And Then I Found Five Dollars
by Lillypop414
Summary: In which I decide to become the punk from South that works at Plush. Just for the cool uniform shoes. And the hot manager. Well, that and maybe all the guys that work there are hot. But I'm there just for the shoes. I swear. AU. SasuSaku. T for Language
1. The Shoes That Changed A Girl

**And Then I Found Five Dollars**

_Chapter One_: The Shoes That Changed a Girl

* * *

"¡Hola, clase! ¿Cómo están ustedes?"

She totally expects us all to reply to her question with some answer that's in Spanish when it's really stupid of her to expect that because it is _so_ obvious that none of us speak the dang language. Why else would we be in Spanish class? I felt my lip sneer into this disgusted curl as I leaned further onto my perched arm, sighing, and preparing for my daily nap.

Plenty of other students readied themselves for their own nap, and this one girl who I heard got syphilis last year from this douche named Kiba Inuzuka—did I mention he's a douche—reached into her backpack and pulled out her bright pink fluffy pillow with golden stitching that read _Princess_. I scoffed. More like whore/slut/sex slave.

I've heard so much about that girl, I swear. I mean, normally I would've believed that Kiba gave her something, but the chances of her already having syphilis and giving it to him are exceedingly higher. Speaking of whores, just seconds away from my eyes sliding and slipping closed, Ami Watanabe ran into the room, slamming the door behind her.

My back went ramrod straight and I outwardly growled at the purple haired freak monster. A few people stared at me with question marks above their heads, to which I flicked them off, continuing my angry seething at Ami.

She was heaving, out of breath when she asked, "Did I miss the bell; am I late?"

My eyes narrowed in pure pity for this girl's mother. If the bell rings, which it did like ten minutes ago, then you are late. Which you _are. _These words escaped my cherry colored lips quietly, whispering them in between giggles at my seat neighbor. She released a hushed cackle of laughter, as well as those closest to me whom I didn't necessarily tell, and they soon gave me my props, sharing fist bumps and ruffling my hair.

Mrs. Dominguez snapped her wrinkly three-chinned neck in my direction. "What was that, Ms. Haruno?"

"I didn't say nothing," I smirked lightly, excitement enticing in me when the sleepers in the room rose. "You old bat, why don't you get your damn ears checked? Probably missing a freaking drum, or something."

She gasped dramatically, slapping a hand to her nonexistent chest and scuttled in her pumps to her desk, floundering to yank open The Drawer. I saw her pull out a pad of bright highlighter yellow papers and take her pen with a crappy piece of fabric taped onto the side in the design of a Mexican flag. While the ink scratched onto the colored paper, Ami strolled in my direction, skirt hiking up her butt with each exaggerated sway of her hips as she walked.

Her legs where bare despite the fact that it was the end of the summer and temperatures were dipping lower—we were lucky if we got a degree higher than seventy these days. Down her, admittedly and very not in a gay way, long and smooth Barbie doll legs were heels just short of the stripper-regulated height. Her shirt stopped just below her belly button and I continued my eyes on their path to hers, this weird brown but not really color that was icy, obviously aimed in my direction. She smiled. "Nice going, Cherry," Ami fingered a loose wisp of her hair behind her ear and cocked her head to the side. "Seems like you still got it in you. Congratulations."

I popped my feet on my desk, examining my brand new shoes for anything that wasn't supposed to be there. They were these kickass custom edition Vans, 106s, with the vamp all black and gray checkerboard and the rest all-fucking pink. Even the damn laces were pink—I bribed the people to let me get the fucking _eyelets _pink; it was that freaking serious that I looked bomb as hell. And I did.

After finishing my examination, I yawned, stretching my arms. "What did you want, Watanabe?" I asked the girl, who was still trying to claim my desk as her corner. Mrs. Dominguez found me after minutes of searching the room for the only girl in the school with pink hair and handed me my Dean's Slip with a huff. She crossed her noodle-like arms and began her escapade to the center of the room.

Ami giggled, wiping a tear from her ugly face. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm congratulating you, Cherry?"

I gathered my books into my backpack and slung the contraption over one of my shoulders, looping my arm through the spot allotted on the other strap. I stared contemplatively at Ami. "Why are you congratulating me?" I paraphrased.

"Your _cherry_, Cherry," she let a conniving grin split her lip-glossed lips, "I heard you got it popped, yeah? It took you long enough."

My face blared as red as a siren and I instinctively shoved my hands, of which were condensing themselves into fists rapidly, into my pockets, and millions of curses were on the tip of my tongue. What type of bitch has the audacity to even...who even raises such a snake? Lowly, I seethed, pointing a sharp finger at her, "You—you Ami Watanabe are the biggest fucking bitch I have _ever_," I paused, clearing the red from my eyes, "known in my damn life. I hope you burn in hell."

"I'll be seeing you there, honey."

Beats of silence passed as I seriously contemplated getting my third strike against me for the fighting rule, the image of myself pummeling Ami to the ground with nothing but my bare fists growing more favorable with each passing second. I could see it, her squealing and trying to cover her face, squirming as I repeatedly beat her face into the ground. Blood would gather on my fists; however that was just an extra, something that I would consider awesome to have, if only it was hers.

Mrs. Dominguez let her accented tone slow, noticing that the whole classes' attention had been averted to Ami and I, and the people nearest her were betting how long it would take until I couldn't take it anymore and snatched a bitch. The elderly woman crooned, "S-Sakura, get out of this—!"

"I'm leaving!" I yelled, turning sharply away from Ami, but not before I got my warning glare in. "Goddamn woman, you already gave me the slip, I _know_ where I need to go." I muttered, swinging the door open, "You must think I'm stupid."

* * *

My back thudded hard against the brick that belonged to the side of the school building, way in the abandoned half where nobody bothered to go—not even the security guards. It was for that reason my friends and I all gathered back here; there were no cameras, no security, and no teachers.

I was still peeved about what happened in Spanish. It wasn't so much the fact that Mrs. Dominguez had given me the Dean's Referral in the first place, since I swear that my locker is overflowing with yellow papers so much that if I opened the little rectangle it would be like a massive regurgitation of highlighter. Point made, the slip was the least of my problems. It was what that…ugh…I can't even fathom thinking the whore's name. How dare she even say something so vile when she knows it's untrue?

My eyes widened slightly, snapping out of my temporary angry lapse as Zaku flipped his lighter, an orange flare of fire emitting. I stared at him silently with slightly agitated eyes for so long that he paused in lighting another cigarette, tilting the box in my direction. He lifted a thin dark eyebrow, "You want one or something?"

Pink locks shook as shook my head from left to right, "No," I spat in disgust. "You know I don't smoke, you dumb ass."

"Then why you looking at me like that then?" He demanded, retorting quickly. I could tell he was growing irritated with me for taking so long with letting him know what I was talking about, and that I was holding up his cigarette time. I rolled my eyes, scoffing. It wasn't as if he couldn't light the death stick and listen at the same moment.

I glanced around the back corner, noticing that many other eyes were watching, their attention diverted by Zaku's sharp order. My heart collided with my chest as it sped faster, pounding roughly against my ribcage, and reluctantly I slid a few inches closer to the pale brunet.

Cupping my hand around his ear I whispered, "This bitch today said I lost my v-card…," I paused, quarrying if I should add any more information, "In Spanish." I added quickly.

Zaku lifted his lip, grimacing roughly. "So? Didn't that happen like ten thousand years ago?"

My mouth opened slightly in complete shock, lost for words. Admittedly, I stuttered for a few beats, arguing with myself on whether I should ask where on the planet he got that idea, but Zaku had already lit his smoke, readily inhaling the toxic fumes. His eyes were closed in relaxation, or so it seemed, and by now he was probably far out of this world.

Frustratingly, I snapped my mouth shut and growled lowly. So, that was what kind of friend he was, just outright and tell one of your girl friends that you think that they are a whore and go on smoking. My face heated red with contained angry, and hurriedly I swiped my purse from the ground and brushed any dirt off my jeans, muttering curses all the while.

I sent my gaze toward the so-called Demon Brothers, attempting to gather enough grass, dirt, sticks, and other flammable objects to burn their ever-beloved pot. Too engrossed, they seemed to know not of my enraged stare demanding their acknowledgement, and I grumbled a completely new string of curses, grabbing the largest stick I could find in our corner. I grasped it, tossing it in my bare palm a few times before hurling it toward the siblings.

"Hey jerk-offs!" I called just moments before my log collided with their miniature campsite style fire pit, destroying it. They jumped simultaneously, covering their respective faces. Instantly, they looked at me, glaring. Before words could exit mouths, I beat them to it. "Tell Zaku that I'm going to class, alright?"

They shared glances, obviously confused. "Eh?" Gozu quirked, his face contorting into the definition of confused. His brother, Meizu, seemed to agree, nodding his head slowly and looking me over at the same speed, calculatingly. He tapped his forefingers together, smirking crookedly. "Yeah, Cherry, ya never go to class; what happened?"

I grumbled, gathering another heavy looking object, this time a rock. "Maybe if we keep talking unnecessarily after I told you what I wanted, this _rock_ will collide with your skull and tell you what the fuck happened, Meizu." I had no reason to like the sleazebag, and because of that, I made no attempt to hide how much I despised the younger of the brothers. To be honest, the only reason I associated myself with them was for the free smoke. Even so, I had yet to ask them for any, let alone accept any of their offers. Admittedly, I was a little scared; however, I wasn't going to let anyone know that.

Gozu and Meizu had made a huddle and began speaking in broken sentences, ones that only they would understand, and eventually Gozu turned to me smiling goofily. "Okay, Cherry-chan, we will tell Zaku for you. Meizu is sorry for making you mad."

"No, I ain't sorry for making no bitch mad!"

"But, Meizu, it's not nice to be mean."

"What the hell do I look like? Elmo? Barney? I don't care about nice and shit—we haven't even started yet and you're dumb as hell already."

"That's not n…"

It was at that moment that I decided their pointless banter was no way to be wasting my time and I turned on my heel, dropping the rock on the soft earth, leaving behind the jagged edges that were upon it.

* * *

I usually try to avoid going to my sixth period class. It isn't that I don't like the subject, no, I actually _love_ Math. It is the only thing that I honestly do understand in this world, and it's for that reason that I really do consider even gracing the school with my presence every day. The only excuse that my brain can conjure for my absences in Geometry would be that the class is at an Honors level, and half those people are such snobs and jerks that I would rather not associate myself with.

Being honest, I'm sure that most all people in my class came from North, our 'sister' school or whatever, but if that school is our sister, it is most certainly a case of Cinderella, wherein we are the abused darling, and North is spoiled like the royal stepsisters. I don't hate everyone who goes to or went to that school, because deep in the depths of the sea of stank that consists at Konoha North, there are some cool people. However, I most reiterate _some_ heavily. My guess would be that the maximum amount of people I would be able to tolerate would be fifteen—maybe twenty if a couple of my cousins hadn't moved away over the summer.

Many people travel to South after attending North because the bills just get too high. I don't understand because, as far as I know, we're both public schools and the pay should still be the same, right? Maybe they get new shit every year or something.

So, anyway, true to my word to the Demon Brothers, I was going to this class. Walking in the deserted hallways and skillfully avoiding all the security desks and cameras—I'm sure I'm more than thirty minutes late, and after ten they start handing out Dean's Referrals. I'm not afraid of the yellow slip, no, I'm just afraid of multiple yellow slips because those things really do add up. Moreover, I heard that sophomores might actually go on a decent fieldtrip this year that's not to some old lady's house to study something that I could've done an experiment on in my own kitchen. I would really like to go on a nice fieldtrip for once, and Referrals can seriously deter my chances of going—I headed toward my classroom that I had only been in once, and that was to steal a calculator.

Haphazardly, I turned a corner into the Math department building, hugging my jacket closer to my body. Guards especially liked hanging out here, eating their donuts like fat-asses, laughing about the good old days when they weren't seventy pounds obese. I caught a whiff of the faded black material and groaned; I smelled legit like pot. Silently I wrestled off the sweater and stuffed it into my purse, bearing only layered camisoles that I felt less than comfortable in without a jacket of some sort. I quickly checked if I was decently shaved, deodorized, you know, that hygienic stuff, and having a checkmark in all aspects, I walked forward, pulling a handy piece of pink paper out of my back pocket.

I waved it in front of the guards. They were most all pale and fat and balding with these ugly liver spots that suggested that they were honestly too old to be 'guarding' a high school. Well, _this_ high school. The man nearest me finished shoving his pink frosted with rainbow sprinkles donut into his mouth then wiped his chubby fingers off on his fancy pants.

He cleared his throat. "How may I help you, young lady?"

"I'm new," I grinned, tugging at the very strands of muscle around my mouth that were worn from neglect. "Can you point me to the direction of the bathroom please?"

Black beady eyes study me for a long while, and, feeling anxious with my palms growing sweaty, I glanced at the others. They were all studying me as well, and just as I was about to ask what the problem was in my falsely sweet voice, the assumed leader wagged his finger in my face. "You're not new," He said slowly.

My eyes widened slightly and my throat began to constrict. I played this off as surprise, laughing dryly. "Yes, I am, sir. I've moved here from Sound just a few days ago. The bathroom, please?"

He narrowed his eyes further. "I'm not believing it," my heart feel as the strings of my lie spun out of control faster than what I could see, "You're on the board list under 'Most Wanted'."

If I hadn't been acting, I would've pulled a face that described how I felt about the staff of this school in relation to their idiocy. A 'Most Wanted' board? Really? How low down on the list do you have to be to need a wanted list so your guards and other teachers know what students to look out for, the ones that will probably bomb the school without a second thought. The idea seemed extremely unnecessary to me, but, then again, most of my friends were those that would most likely be on the list, their yearbook picture serving as some sort of mug shot.

A heavy pause filled the silence as I inwardly laughed at the employees' stupidity, and, thinking quickly I pointed to my hair. "Oh, oh, Sakura? Haruno? That's my cousin."

"…really now?" Another man questioned. "Is that so?"

I nodded, laughing, making sure to angle myself in his direction. "Our mother's always said we looked very much alike."

Reluctantly, it seemed, the leader of the band of Math building security guards pointed me in the direction of the bathrooms, still wary of my story. He continued to eye me carefully as I made my way down the hallway, continuing on my path to the restroom, and I stopped suddenly looking at them all.

I grinned widely, "Thank you _so_ much. You're really the first people to be nice to me all day."

The one holding the fold-up box of Dunkin Donuts waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly, embarrassed. "Aw, shucks, don't tell such a lie, darling."

"No, I'm being honest, sir."

* * *

Konoha South has tile flooring so if a teacher or somebody of importance—or just some ho—walks by in super heels or stilettos, I can hear them at least three minutes away. The silence that existed in the hall nearest the bathroom was actually a little unsettling, since it was the bathroom hallway, and there always seemed to be people loitering around. This lead me to creep a little more carefully around the corners and down the halls, and, sooner than I thought I would, I reached the 'abandoned' Ladies room that no one used because, like, three years ago, some chick died in there while she was taking a crap.

Well, that's what I heard, anyway.

I pushed the swinging door open with the bottom of my shoe, against touching the door with my bare arms, and I walked in, bombarded by the strong stringent smell of pee and overused perfume. I stepped around suspicious puddles, all the while pulling my jacket out of my purse, along with a hanger. I situated the hooded fleece on the hanger and hung it against the first stall, turning and looking around for the little container of air freshener that was normally above the paper towel dispenser.

Reaching up for the metal cylinder, I shook it a couple times only to find that it was essentially empty. I groaned, rested it upon the sink, and dug back into my purse, feeling around for the only perfume bottle I owned. Feeling the round sphere, I pulled out the bottle and examined it. Having about four ounces left, I decided that would have to be enough, and I placed it next to the aerosol spray.

I studied the air freshener. Supposedly, it was lavender scented, and I examined the ingredients section of the bottle out of sheer curiosity.

Musing, "Guess this'll work," I twisted the cap off and turned on the sink, guesstimating how much a quarter cup of water was. When the cylinder was essentially heavy enough, I popped open my own perfume and poured the remains of my perfume into the container. I snapped the cap back onto the aerosol and shook it vigorously, mixing the scents. Half way through the process, I wondered how well tropical vacation and lavender smells smelled together, but, at this point there was nothing to do.

I tested the concoction before spraying it onto my jacket, and smiling, pleased with myself, I began misting my whole jacket over, hoping that it was strong enough to bury the fumes of smoke. I don't even honestly remember how long I've been un-stinking my jackets by these means, or how long I've been collecting all these perfumes just for these reasons. Usually, I used them before school was over, in preparation for going home on the bus. I suppose the thought of going to an Honors class did shake me a bit, and despite myself, I found myself admitting that I was a little worried about what they would say, for some reason.

They're nothing but a bunch of spoiled rich brats that can no longer pay the bills, and if not that, the loans were piling up to high, or they're just too smart for their own good and ended up in an Honors class at this dump. The only classes to take seriously are the Honors level, since only geniuses could fathom and dream making it to AP.

I kept telling myself just those words as I smelled my jacket over again, satisfied, and slung it back over my shoulders and zipping my hanger back into my purse. Those people I shouldn't even worry about, they aren't affecting my life, they aren't even _involved_ in my life, actually.

Catching a glance at myself from the mirror as I turned to leave, and something caused me to stop, drawn into my own appearance. I looked pale, milky almost, but in a grayish way, ghostly. My eyes were a dull, lifeless green, strikingly opposing to the way I would view myself in my mind's eye. The colors were diluted; even my hair that most all people would agree was a bubbly color. It looked—I looked washed out and tired, as if someone had looked me indoors for months and my skin was deprived of the sun, and I was in serious need for some Vitamin D. More than anything, I looked sad, very sad, behind the strong ploy and mask I put on, I looked _sad_.

The sounds of squeaky new gym shoes squealing against the tile ripped me from my momentary lapse, and, listening closer to the sound I could hear that it was heading toward the bathroom, this bathroom, and I felt a jolt of adrenaline run through my body. I skipped into the nearest stall and closed the door shut, being careful to lock it without a sound. I sat on top of the toilet, resting my feet on the seat.

Soon enough, I could distinguish multiple shoes crying, and snobbishly high-pitched voices making their way closer. I heard the door swing open and slam against the opposite wall, and my heart was in my throat.

"Oh my gosh," one person cried, standing in front of the mirror. "I cannot believe how _tortuous_ that class is, can you?"

From looking under the little inch or two gap at the bottom of the stall, I could see three pairs of feet, around the area of the sinks. Therefore, they were _all_ at the mirrors, most likely fixing make up while ditching class. Snobs, they were. I considered exiting the stall after falsely flushing, until words of interest exited a different mouth.

She smacked her lips together, probably putting on lip-gloss. "Ladies, guess what scoop I got from the manager at Plush," she said with this intrigue in her voice that got me interested, even though Plush is the _most girly_ store in Maple Leaf mall ever, with all these pink fluffy things and sparkles and glitter. I swear that every time I pass by there I get a shiver from just the sheer possibility of even entering, let alone working, at the place. I would get some disease from an excess amount of estrogen. Still, because of the tone of this girl's voice, I just had to hear what she had to say about what the manager was saying.

A girl closest to me gasped, clapping. "Do tell," she exclaimed.

From my secret place, I rolled my eyes, trying to hold in my laughter.

"So, you know how we're, like, together, right?" The girl in the middle of which I was quickly learning was the Head Bitch of the trio started. "He told me that we're going to get these hot new uniforms to go with the remodel, and—oh! The best part is the new shoes!"

"What kind?" The other two squealed, voicing my own question. Unbeknownst to me, I was leaning closer to the floor, trying to hear the conversation more clearly.

Dramatically pausing, the leader waiting until my anxiety was at its highest. I hoped that they were... "Nike Dunk High Retro's—custom styling for each worker, of course."

Unable to contain myself anymore I screamed out of pure ecstasy, loud and shrilling, and before I could stop it, I stumbled from the safety of the tank lid, falling ungracefully to the bathroom stall floor. After the original shock left me, and the idea of being on the dirty restroom ground somehow completely flew out my mind, I continued shrieking, pure happiness running through my veins.

I've always…always…always wanted those shoes! That's a whole new ballpark, that's a whole new fucking _league!_ That's like going from the bench in D-League to MVP and championship winner in one year! ARE YOU KIDDING ME! Those shoes are like, worth more than all the things that are stuffed in my closet! They make my shoes that I have on right now look like what came out of my dog's woohoo when she was in heat. This. Is. The. News.

"O.M.G., what type of freak is that, like, scareeming in there?" The girl with the most obnoxious voice drawled, sounding as if she had been in the biggest shock of her whole life.

That sleazy voice tore me from my joyous world, and I speedily gathered myself, waited a second until I flushed the bathroom, and then walked out of the small cubicle with my head held high. "I apologize; I just got my period…thought I was preggers," I lied with a straight face as they eyed me all blankly. "If you would ever so kindly allow me to wash my hands, I'll be on my way."

As a fan opening, they dispersed two to the right and one to the left, the head with fiery red hair and thick-rimmed glasses continued looking solidly with wine red eyes, her counterparts making no move to stop their giggling. It wasn't until I turned on the water and pumped the foaming soap into my palms that the red eyes left me and flicked harshly to the girls, successfully hushing them.

She scoffed, "My Kami, you guys are such idiots," she spat. "Get my make up bag and we'll head back to class."

When I was sure they left, the bathroom door clicking closed, I pumped my fists, excitement running haywire within my body. "Shannaro, bitch, Shannaro!" I yelled in between thrusts.

I was going to get those shoes even if meant working at Plush. So, suck on _that_, generalizations, _suck on that_.

* * *

**A/N:** If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I promise to answer them all!

I have a question, though: Do you think because of language this should be rated M?

Thanks and review!

~Lillypop414


	2. Adventures In KakashiLand

**And Then Found Five Dollars**

_Chapter Two: _Adventures in Kakashi-Land

* * *

Turns out that my teacher for Geometry is Hatake Kakashi, which in nice words, really sucks. I had him last year, and, well, I'm a little concerned as to why I see his face through the little window/glass/see through crap right by the door that read 207G. You see, my freshman year, whenever I had to be in the room alone with the man—which, trust me, I pointedly and mindfully tried to avoid with all my life—I got this strange sensation that ran through my veins. It told me to wear, like, seventeen sweaters, a tee shirt, camisole, and four bras, cross my legs as tight as they could get and then wear three of Grammy's panties, of course after washing them with the wonderful power of Lysol.

I highly doubt that Kakashi followed our class for no apparent reason, and I doubt it even more seriously that he completely abandoned his perverted tendencies during the course of a short two-month and some week's summer vacation.

Clarifying, the person is the MOST perverted man to walk the planet and still have a teaching's license. I mean, he would be second if it weren't for the blatant fact that Jiraiya-sama has no license or degree of any sort, and that he only works at Konoha South because he and Tsunade-sama are fuck friends whenever Tsunade is depressed enough about losing a bet.

He is SUCH A CREEPER—Kakashi, not Jiraiya, he's a super creeper.

Normally, teachers stay in the same grade all four years of high-school, teaching Freshmen and the academically challenged Sophomores/Juniors that are somehow still in Algebra I. But no. Kakashi, I guess he just likes our class and decided, "Hey, why don't I use my seniority points and whatever the hell else and move on up so I can teach the same people next year?"

And that he did.

I don't too much mind, now that I think about it, since there were other teachers for Math sophomore year and the chances of me being stuck with the silver haired male cougar—is that called a fox? I totally have to look that up later— again was seriously dwindled to a measly 25/25/25/25. When Kakashi-sensei moved up, he bumped the teacher that normally taught Honors level Geometry down to Freshman AP Algebra. That said teacher was this closet pervert named Ebisu, and I suppose that I should be grateful that I do have somebody I know how to fend off.

Eventually swallowing my pounding heart down some inches, I grasped the rusty door handle and gave it a twist, the door opening slowly. I stood in the doorway for a good three seconds, taking in all the awkward stares I was receiving, and trying to decipher them.

I wasn't accustomed to being around Northies—my self-given nickname for those pricks from North—and therefore couldn't tell if the glares they were giving me were actually glares or friendly smiling eyes, awaiting my introduction. Soon enough, the diversion of the class's attention became aware to Kakashi, who was pretending to write at the board, holding a piece of white chalk in one hand, his infamous book in the other.

My mouth released a pitiful sigh, and I fought a face palm.

The main problem with the Hatake being the teacher is the sheer fact that he doesn't teach. It's Math, for Pete's Sake, and I do think that is quite important to life. I don't want to go to the store with an inability to do those quick estimations of sale prices based off percentages without a calculator like what my Mom does.

Kakashi was still reading his stupid orange book. Apparently, he was reading to the finality of his chapter based upon his small giggles and brightened cheeks, and, I crossed my arms, all humor that was previously in the situation having dissipated.

I cleared my throat, "Oi, Pervert-sensei, looks like you can finally put a check next to my name on the attendance sheet."

A cat like grin split across the silver-haired man's face, of which confused a considerable chunk of the class, specifically the middle section. They all released an instantaneous, "Huh?" with perfectly plucked eyebrows quirking upwards. Only one boy dared to laugh, and laugh he did, throwing his blonde head back with a hoot, clutching his stomach, wheezing, and slapping the poor shoulder of the boy who was forced to sit next to him. He looked like a fucking Emo.

"Sakura," Kakashi's leathery voice called, distracting me temporarily from the intense gaze of the charcoal-eyed boy nearest the blonde giggler. I felt like I knew him from somewhere, however where exactly was just itching in the back of my mind. "Come here, we're going to see if we can pull some strings, alright?"

Before I could ask what type of strings he was talking about, the class erupted in an uproar. High-pitched voices eagerly gossiped, snipping, "I bet she, like, does it with him" "Maybe she's going to sell him pot to fix the deficit," and, the one that had me on the wall, "OMG, guys, maybe we'll be in a porno! Looks like the star is _finally _here, ne?" was from a voice I could decipher a mile a way. Ami Watanabe was situated in the back corner of the room, her cronies circled around her. Out of them, I could place the redhead from earlier with the bathroom incident leaning toward her, whispering in her ear and probably telling her of just that.

Watanabe's eyes connected to mine like magnets and she nodded emptily to whatever the redhead was repeating while smiling and asking her to continue. She released a short, sharp, laugh, waving at me with sparkle fingers. I waved with energy in return, putting on my best Northie accent, "Like, omigod, Ami, we're, like, in the same class, like, omigod! How totally awesome, ne?"

Her face fell shortly after, and she bit the inside of her lip, most likely holding in her own snarky retort. I smiled, triumphant.

* * *

"What're you doing, Sakura?" Kakashi whispered, typing idly on his desktop computer. He had told the class to work on a worksheet that he had 'forgotten' to pass out for the remainder of class, and as such, the students were talking loudly. I found myself easily distracted, pulled into their admittedly interesting gossip, and during my gaps in attentiveness with my conversation with the teacher, I realized something, in the back of my mind.

Practically the whole class consisted of Northies, and a full class was about thirty to thirty-five students. It seemed to me that they were taking over, not just in this class, but the whole school. Ami, the blonde boy, and the mysterious brooder next to aforementioned blonde boy were just a few that I could sense were from the better of the sister schools in Konoha. With this newfound information, I was wondering just why there were so many of them here, and so suddenly.

I knew Ami had money; unfortunately, my parents associate themselves with hers, and affluence is her practical middle name. I turned and looked at her, blah-blah-blah-ing away without a care in the world. My fair eyebrow arched slightly. She also seemed as if she didn't _mind_ being here, at least not at the moment.

Interesting, my mind mused. Very interesting.

"Just let me know if I'm boring you, speaking in a foreign language, you know," Kakashi said dismissively, his voice blurring to my senses. "I like to know when my lingo is so outdated that the kids just don't understand it anymore."

I flipped back around in the wooden chair I was in, flushed red with embarrassment. "My bad, Kaka-sensei. What did you ask, again?"

He repeated himself up to the point where he had tore me from my observations on the Northies, and I scratched the side of my face, conjuring up a story. "I—"

"You smell like pot—I know what you've been doing. I wanted to know what you were going to fix up with your little web of lies. Seems you forget my room has a window near the corner. I spy, every once in awhile," Kakashi interrupted, a crooked grin on his face. My jaw dropped shortly at this. "Go ahead and sit there, next to Sasuke," my eyes followed his loosely pointed finger, to the empty seat next to the brooder. I groaned slightly, just another spoiled wannabe Emo rich kid with no idea how hard others have it outside his mansion of a house. "I have papers to not do," Kakashi finished.

I traveled toward the only empty seat in the room, or so it seemed, consciously ignoring the murmurs that trailed behind me. I was only annoyed on the surface, too much going on inside my mind for their words to truly bother me. I knew my abandoning of Zaku and the Crew—I'm not kidding, that's what we're formally called. Suck my nonexistent dick if you've got a problem.—would unearth itself sooner than later, and I had a nagging feeling telling me that no matter what I did, it wouldn't go unpunished or unnoticed. Zaku was one of my friends, or at least I liked to think so, and being so close to him, I knew of the harsh punishments he gave to those who left the Crew. Sometimes, being the closest friend of the leader, I would be punishing, and, well, I don't like to think going through those trials on my own. I knew that Zak didn't want the word of the corner or the crack or the weed or the whole fucking Crew to get out, not too popularly, at least with those who weren't afraid to bust us (Was I still part of the 'us'? I didn't say flat out that I was outskies, but…I sighed.)out, and to keep that from happening, he went to some pretty far extents.

My aura must've been heavy and dark, because as soon as I plopped down next to the blackest clothed kid I've ever seen from North in my life, he glanced at me, giving me a once over, and he rose a pretty eyebrow. I sneered at him and stuck out my tongue. "Go back to your damn work, Northie, and mind your own fucking wrist-cutting business, ya fucking Emo," I muttered, reaching for a book from my backpack. Immersing myself in the wonderful world of fantasy, I barely noticed the sudden still in conversation within the room.

My eyes just skimmed the pages, continuing to be caught up in my mind. I also needed to get that job at Plush if I wanted those shoes…

"Oi!" A voice alerted just seconds before a tanned face and bright blue eyes appeared above the brim of my book. I narrowed my eyes and pushed my book closer to my face, successfully covering his face. Thinking he would get the message was apparently dumb for me to do, seeing as he grasped my novel in his own hands, tearing it away from me. I grumbled lowly, preparing to unleash, but he grinned, confusing me for long enough to pause my torrent.

He waved. "I think we should be friends because you just pissed Sasuke-teme off majorly," he poised his hand in a shaking position, gesturing for me to grasp it. "I'm Naruto, Dattebayo!"

Slowly I returned the gesture, a grimace making its way onto my face. I gave his hand a weak shake, "Um…hi. If I be your friend will you give me my book back?"

"Hm," he rubbed his chin in some serious thought. "I suppose that sounds just enough."

Tossing my book highly in the air with a flick of the left wrist that I had to use actual hand-eye to grasp it, the boy tugged at my strings, irking me to no ends. I couldn't identify him or put him in a box. He was…that I had no idea of, but I did know what he was not. The boy—Naruto, an itching reminder whispered—was obviously dressing as if he were a preppy Northie, donning a blue hooded plaid shirt, skinny jeans, and admittedly nice looking Converse. They had to be at least seventy bucks, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were more than that. Inspecting further, I realized that the blues of his eyes almost perfectly matched his shirt.

I leaned back into my chair, clucking my tongue. The thing was, about Naruto, he was actually decent. He wasn't snobby and patronizing at every given chance he had. Alternatively, he did not look like a stoner, a skater, or a gear head. He did look like a gamer, though, and he dressed as a preppy person would, yet didn't look like one. How contradicting…

Placing my forefinger to my chin, I questioned, "Do you pick your own clothes, Baka?"

"Eh?" was his immediate reply, and a slightly thick blonde brow rose instantaneously with his confused face. I explained this to him, including details such as, but not limited to: "Those things that you put on your body so you don't walk out the house stark nude, dumbass. Usually made of cotton or polyester. Clothes. You get them at the mall…?"

I swear a light bulb lit over his sun-bleached blond head, especially considering he straightened up, pointing at the ceiling having a complete 'Eureka!' moment. I glanced to the side, slightly embarrassed that I was even entertaining such an idiot with conversation. I started to open my book back to find my page again, but his subliminally scratchy voice reached my ears.

"Duh," he laughed, err, snorted, "I know what clothes are. What about them?"

My mind had a temporary lull of amazement at how slow this boy was. I sneered lightly, and then ran a hand through my hair. I took a concentrated breath, trying to gather enough patience to—

"You look really hot when you're pissed off."

I narrowed my eyes, defensively crossing my arms over my chest. "Fuck off," I spat, a pretty red blush painting my face. I'd never been called 'hot' before, except that one time I had a fever of 103 in the fourth grade.

* * *

The rest of the next two days consisted solely of avoiding Zaku, the brothers, or anyone who looked like they belonged or should belong to the corner. It wasn't too hard of a task to complete, seeing as we—they—stuck out like sore thumbs among the cast of 'normal' dressers in the school population. The only class that I would guiltlessly admit to being my favorite, the one I would pay attention in, the own that I took seriously, was slowly becoming my Geometry class. I found it odd and interesting at the same time that I was most content in a class full of Northies, and that was once the class I dolefully avoided as if it were some sort of plague.

It was on Thursday when I decided that lunch was lunch even if it was disgusting cafeteria food. Normally having skipped the second meal or went to go inhale smoke at the corner, the sheer amount of people, loudness of chatter, and plain atmosphere of Hallway During Lunch all but freaked me out. I waited ten minutes to even go by the expanse, wandering aimlessly until I felt it was time to see what was left of the slop. Stuffing my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, I hummed a familiar tune swirling in spinning circles, arms outstretched, emerald eyes closed.

I suppose it was because I wasn't worried about anyone else being in the hallway that I began to sing full blast, popping a guitar stance and rocking air guitar right in the middle of the hall. I was biting my lip, cheering, and "Guitar solo! Kill it, Sakura, you freaking beast monster!" My mind was in a total different place. I was on a stage and thousands of people were screaming my name because I was the lead guitarist/singer that was so kickass that she could freaking run the concert if her band didn't decide to show up to the Kotone Stadium because they were _such_ fucking pussies. Lights were flashing and the cameras just would not stop, man, it was ridiculous.

I got up then and pretending to smash my V-Shaped guitar with custom detailing—because custom is the shit—one can imagine how freaked out I was when my clasped hands met a very solid surface.

My body went rigid. At first, I thought that I had just hit the brick wall, fully bracing myself for the pain that would soon follow scraping the rough rocky surface. When that didn't happen I opened my palm, feeling the material. It felt like…cottony?

"Stop," a rumbling voice all but demanded, and sharply my eyelids were ripped apart.

The first thing I saw was my palm extended across a very firm pectoral, rubbing the very muscle in a borderline molestation-al fashion, and awkwardly I removed my hand from the muscle that was growing more and more appealing, the heart beat more…not odd but odd…every second. I placed my palm behind my back, then wiped it off on my jeans, deciding I must have looked like some military-type with my hand behind my back like that, and I was being too nice by not insulting the person who low key just treated my life with one word.

His face contorted into the post-grunt face. "I'm not dirty," he said in that indignant matter that just screamed 'Why the F Would You Think That I Was Dirty I Shower Every Day Because I'm A Douche.'

"What boy in his non-gay mind wears v-neck cotton?" I asked, trying to sound as if I wasn't as fashion conscious as I really was. He narrowed his eyes and I stared back evenly, crossing my arms. "Well?" I demanded.

He grunted an, "Hn," and turned sharply, leaving me at a complete shock for no more than three seconds. During that time, my brain decided to clear and process previously acquired images, and I stomped the linoleum of the floor before storming after the dark-haired bastard, rounding the corner that he had passed. It was just amazing when I almost ran into him again.

I growled. "Sorry," I said through strained teeth. Composing myself, I tried to come off as friendly under his scrutinizing gaze. "You're in my math class."

His face remained blank.

"You sit next to me."

Impassive.

"I sit next to you."

Uncaring.

"Look, if you want to keep on being bastardly then fine by me—"

A smirk turned on the corner of his lips as he crossed his arms. "I wouldn't call the person who saw you doing whatever you were doing in the hall before a bastard."

I was trying not to scratch him so hard that I think I did in my mind. It felt good, either way.

* * *

My feet tread through the grassy path that had yet to be cut for the year, heading toward the second building of my school, where the math and science classroom were. The chilling autumn wind nipped at my nose and I felt a strong sneeze coming on. I tried to suppress it just as much as I suppressed the barf that was trying to come up from the subject of conversation I was having with Naruto.

I cleared my throat, "Um, Naruto-baka," I started, readjusting my backpack. "I hope you know that I'm not a guy and I could care less about what websites have the best…What are you looking at?"

He laughed evilly, well, as evilly as a little ball of sunshine such as himself could and ran in the grass, making a straight beeline toward something. I sighed after not receiving my answer and skipped after him.

Naruto is so stupid. Like, he's not dumb…but he's dumb. He has mentally capacity, sure, but it seems as if he just lost the key in some black orbital abyss that he's never going to persuade his key back from, not that he would try to get it back. It always was as if the blonde dobe had other things on his mind at all times. I wonder how he ever got into the Honors level class.

I caught up to him eventually, only to see him on his knees—lol—scrounging through his backpack. He was panting heavily, and I wouldn't be shocked if he would break into a hyperventilated cry session. He dumped the orange carrier, papers without folders flooding out like a erupting volcano, a calculator tumbling, packs of gum thumping down, and…instant ramen cups. I rolled my eyes. I found out something weirder about him everyday.

"What's up, Baka?" I asked, sitting Indian style in the grass, observing with interest as he sifted through each crumpled paper.

He made a desperate sounding sound, but it wasn't natural at all, far too loud and guttural to be considered normal. A few birds awoke from their afternoon nap, cawing in disapprobation of Naruto's outburst. I flinched, only shocked at the randomness of the whole thing. "I lost my homework, Sakura-chan!" He whined, pounding his hand with his fist, "I lost it, I lost it, I lost it! I am _so _stupid!"

I opened my mouth in a ways to calm him, but closed it shortly after, unaware of what to say. "It's just homework…it's like five points…"

He looked at me with desperate eyes. "You don't understand, though, Sakura; I've got to do good to stay here—every grade counts. And, I need to make every one so I can stay here as long as I can. I have to."

My eyebrows rose, a question just at the tip of my tongue, but Naruto packed up his papers so quickly, swiping them into his pack and swinging that over his shoulder so quickly that I felt as if the topic had already passed and I lost my chance. He ran for a few steps, and then stopped looking back to me. "Come on, Sakura-chan, we're going to be late at this rate, Dattebayo!"

* * *

I stared at the red slip in my hand. I couldn't avoid this, I sullenly thought, sliding down into the uncomfortable blue office chairs they had reserved for us. Us, the ones they expected to be bad. Us, the ones they expected to fail. Us, the ones who fought. Us, the ones who stood up when everyone else sat. Us, the punks that rebel against whatever they don't feel what was right. Us, the ones they thought were poor. Us, the ones they thought didn't know what uncomfortable was so they gave us these crappy chairs to sit in.

I read over the scrappy handwriting of my Psych teacher.

_Disapprobation—swearing, cussing, threatening_

_ Misdemeanor—destruction of property_

_ Violence—stapling, or attempting to, another student's hand_

_ Student Sakura Haruno has been caught in this situation numerous times with warnings, phone calls home, and punishments I have issued myself, such as teacher detentions. I feel the issue needs to be handled further. _

I cussed lightly to myself, quarrying on tearing and crumbling the sheet. Nobody would know if I had it or not, and nobody would know if I even went to the office in the first place.

Just then, a sickly colored boy strolled into the Administrative Principal's office, the bell above the door ringing to signify his entrance. I glanced in the direction as soon as the trill ended. He smiled, an action that sent my stomach churning. "Hi, do you know where I go if I got a Referral?"

I stared hard at him, smiling and all innocent looking, despite his complete black attire. He obviously wasn't familiar with such things, or he was brand new. Otherwise I could see no reason for someone not to know where to sit if they were in trouble. You can't sit in the nice chairs unless you want more trouble shoved down your throat. I cleared my throat. "Right here," I nodded toward an empty seat, and curiosity nagged at the back of my mind. Beats after he sat, I asked, "What'd you do?"

"Oh," he grinned again then glanced at the red paper, "Apparently I had asked an inappropriate question to my Human Studies teacher—" I barely flinched at the mention of the course. Only socially awkward freaks took that class, and it was AP on top of that. "—and she said that I needed to come here."

I toyed with one of the bracelets on my wrist, propping my feet on my chair. "What'd you ask?"

"I asked if it was true that women prefer to be called the opposite of what their male counterpart perceives them to be, and if so, do you like to be referred to as thin and beautiful?"

It took me a few seconds to process what he had said and I scoffed, turning my head away from him. Facing directly forward, I said vacantly, "You're strange."

He replied, just as emptily, "So I've heard."

Silence was pregnant in the room, the ticks of the clock like the days going by in the nine month long journey, and when I couldn't take the silence anymore, I asked him another question. "What do you go by besides freak, weirdo?"

"Sai," he smiled, "Sai is my name."

* * *

A/N: Awww, sorry. This is about 500 words shorter, but I feel like I should've ended it there. Update schedule for this story should be EVERY SATURDAY but don't be surprised if I update early some weeks, or late others.

Links for outfits are on my page. : )

_**Thanks for reviewing…**_

_NaruBaby2496, 2AsiAnn4y00h, brebabi101, and crazychocochica17_

**Any Question Feel Free To Ask**

**REVIEW, PLZ!**

~Lillypop414


	3. Out of the Womb Hatched an Egg

**And Then Found Five Dollars**

_Chapter Three: _Out of the Womb Hatched an Egg

* * *

I have this sister, you know, that being that shares with me both a mother and a father, and she hatched from a dinosaur egg seventeen years ago. Momoko is everything I pray that I will never be—she's egotistical, slutty, snobbish, slutty, that ugly beautiful, slutty, and overall a slut. One can imagine how blatantly apparent her slutty behavior must be if even her younger, adoring, and amazing sister calls her out on it.

People say that they think I can be just as popular as Momoko if I were just to try. I'm more beautiful than she is, more dynamic and funny, cooler, and have so much more potential. I wouldn't have to whore myself out to move up on the popularity food chain. All of the douche's at North just praise me whenever I tell them who I am, just at the mention of the last name Haruno. They try to be my friend until they discover that I'm nothing like my sister. I consciously try to avoid becoming her, becoming _anything_ like her.

So, anyway, I'm on this rant because I'm now in the principal' s office and Tsunade is all barking about crud like: "Blah blah blah, Sakura you are violent, blah blah blah, drugs are bad, yada yada yada, you shouldn't do that, wah wah waaaah, I think I'm going to have to call up your parents."

My eyes widened, ceasing in my observations of the decorations in her little office. She had plenty of pictures with herself and this guy that would've looked half way decent if he wasn't like 50 or however old she was. "Call my parents?" I echoed, bunching my eyebrows. Admittedly, fear started to bubble inside me; for all my parents knew, I was a carbon copy of Momoko that just dressed awkwardly. Calling and telling them even half of all that I've done would completely ruin me. I would probably be shunned from my little subdivision. And I need a house.

Tsunade nodded, pressing a couple buttons on her office phone and lifting it off the receiver. She tilted the communication device toward me. "I advise you dial one of the numbers that we have on file if you want to avoid further trouble," she said detachedly, amber eyes locked with mine. I mustered as much reluctance and anger as I could into one composed look, and snatched the phone, all the while thinking back to early August on registration day.

Momoko was with me, registering me because Dad was in Fiji and Mom was at work doing whatever the hell she does at work, which was mostly nothing based upon the multiple 'Bring Your Child/Demon to Work' days she forced me to attend back in the day. I forced the little smart people in my brain to file through the manilas from the summer faster, so fast that I looked as if I was only shortly stalling. Tsunade cleared her throat, "Now, Sakura."

I grinned. "Sorry, I just thought of something."

My fingers grazed over the numbers, pressing each little box in until I had pressed seven of them. Pressing the most likely germ infested telephone between my cheek and shoulder, and, making sure I caught Tsunade's eye, propping my feet on her desk, I crossed my legs. Before she could breathe fire—I suppose she ran out of breath mints—the dialing ceased and I smiled, twirling the cord between my fingers as my sisters voice followed a dull beep.

"Omigod, I, like, know, right—hold on, the pothead is calling."

My tongue held back a torrent of curses and I calmed myself, swallowing thickly. "Hi, Mom. I'm in the principal's office."

A long pause was on the other line, and I could only guess that she was trying to figure things out. "I'm not _Mom_," she squealed.

"Mom," I pleaded.

"UGH, I'm not Mom, you freaking—"

"Mom, just listen to me, please…" I whined, putting on a show for Tsunade-sama. She glanced over at me from the screen of her computer.

Momoko released a guttural complaint. "OMG, you're, like, really high today."

I started to cry. "But Mom," I sniffled, "I didn't do anything, I jus—"

"You're so stupid! Stop calling me Mom, you idiot! I know, my sister is like retarded, isn't she?"

I grumbled mentally. She must've been in class or walking to one, surrounded by her friends. A chorus of obnoxious cackles filled the line, and I rolled my eyes. "Fine, fine, Mom. I'll just tell Tsunade-sama."

"What're you talking about? And for the **last **time, I am not M—!"

I hung up on her and looked at Tsunade, who was appalled. I wiped my eyes, frowning deeply. "I hope you are proud of yourself, Tsunade-sama."

I could imagine the thoughts that circled her mind, thoughts of me being severely punished by my parents by means of beating and whatnot, you know all that jazz that I was trying to portray through sad little green eyes. Tsunade studied me carefully and I tried my hardest to keep the mask up. It seemed as if minutes had passed before Tsunade took my hand in her cold palm. She patted it, "Sakura, just let me know if you need counseling, or anything else to help your situation," she cooed apathetically, "Many teens whom are in your situation become _very _rebellious in ways to send warning signals."

She suddenly became serious, boring into my eyes so much that I was becoming scared of what I had created. "Sakura, are you sending warning signals?"

My eyes widened and I swiped my hand from hers, laughing nervously. I played with the hem of my shirt, growing guiltier by the passing second. "Eh, no, Tsunade-sama. May I be dismissed, now, or what?" I asked, still avoiding eye contact.

The blonde woman nodded stiffly. "Grab a pass."

I snatched five pink papers and turned to leave, feeling as if in trying to make things all right for myself, I had ruined much of others' lives in the meantime.

* * *

The school day was going to be over with in ten minutes after I was dismissed from Tsunade's office, and, as such, I left out of the main doors nearest the office. Nobody was outside because nobody was supposed to be, and I leaned on the rail of the stairs, pulling out my cell phone seconds later. I need a ride home, because I'm not about to walk all the way there, not in these kickass shoes, since it would then be too easy for them to be messed up.

I slid the screen up and a full keyboard. Searching through the contact list until I reached Whore, I clicked the '_Text Message_' option.

**Me: **come pick me up u slut monkii

_**Whore**_: um no.

**Me: **come pick me up

_**Whore: **_the ansr is NO

**Me: **u has chlamydia

_**Whore: **_ok &

**Me: **mom will hear from a lil birdy if u dont com n gets me

_**Whore: **_…im in the midl of class, tho

**Me: **say you have to take a shit

Plenty of minutes passed before I received a new message, my sister saying that she would be here in about twenty minutes. I grinned to myself and placed my phone back in my back pocket.

So, it was pretty crappy weather outside because it was all windy and the wind wasn't even nice feeling, it was cold as hell, and I felt as if my little pink toes and fingers were, like, freezing to the core. I pulled up my hood and zipped up my jacket to the neck, and thought, mostly about what I was planning on what I was going to do.

I had decided that I was going to make Momoko take me to Maple Leaf and I was going to go apply to work at Plush. This would be done as low key as possible, in means to not get any attention from people I could possibly know. That shouldn't be a problem, though, since school is still in session for the next hour and some minutes. I figured that was enough time to get in, fill out some questions, sign my name, hand the sheet to the manager, grab some Panda Express, eat that, and leave. Maybe I would visit Zumiez, too, but that was if I had any cash left on me.

Curious as to how much money I did have, I turned to get my purse from the grass, only to discover I had left it in the office. Grumbling a few words that should never be repeated, I stomped up, almost ramming face first into a hard chest. My eyes widened as I absorbed the spitfire logo first, demonic eyes taunting me for my stupidity, and instinctively I stepped back, holding back a scream when I saw Zaku's pot red eyes glaring at me.

The silence was unnerving, and all I wanted to do was run, and run as fast and as far as I could. I tried to make my heart beat slower, not as hard against my ribs, but the adrenaline was speeding through my system like a bullet. I had a sudden urge to take a piss, which felt so _random_, including the tenseness of the situation. My knees trembled and shook. I knew I looked scared, and some bragging part of my pessimistic self told me that Zaku knew I was scared as well.

He continued grimacing at me, cracking his knuckles. I almost whimpered, scared out of my skin. I cursed myself for not writing out some sort of will that gave all of my things to my…not my friends. Obviously, I have no friends. I'm about to get pummeled by the person whom I thought was my best. The logic spurred through me one second before he opened his mouth, malice running like venom in the words.

As he took a step forward, I struggled over the rail of the stairs onto the grass, smart enough to know that it would be dumb of me to turn my back on him. Quickly I glanced to my side and saw my backpack spilled open, and, fantastically, a Hello Kitty—it is a guilty pleasure, I swear—wallet lying neatly beside it. Well, isn't that awesome; I just found my wallet.

"Sakura," he cackled, "how nice this is—a wallet, full of money." Kneeling down, he swiped my wallet, counting out each bill with his eyes. My arms urged to reach out and snatch it back, trust me, I wanted to snatch more than my wallet, but I couldn't make myself. Fear and shock were racing, he was too close to me, yet if I moved away…I feared what would happen then.

Somehow, I reached that the safest alternative was to find my voice. "Zak…," I started, immediately hushed by his harsh gaze flying in my direction. My lip quivered in amplified fear, emerald eyes begging to release tears. I hated not knowing what to do, and right know was when I need to know most.

Zaku rose back to his feet, knees cracking, stuffing my wallet into his back pocket. He shrugged, smirking despite the tenseness of the situation. "You know how we do in the Crew, Sakura," he shrugged, weighing the options, "I mean, I guess I could let you off the hook, but that wouldn't be fair, would it?" He met my eyes expectantly, but my throat went dry. I had no idea what to say or what to do. I needed help but I…my voice cracked as scared tears dared to exit, and my eyes desperately looked around for any source of help. A limousine, black and sleek, turned into the school parking lot. That only amplified my fear. Zaku now has his rich city friends who can afford guns in it.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, bitch!" He lounged toward me and all I could do was cover my face, expectant of the blow. I couldn't do anything, too paralyzed to fight back; it was small, petite me versus a most likely high, deranged, muscular guy who happened to 'know people'. I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to three, saying my prayers to whoever would listen.

A sharp pain met my cheek and I ripped my eyes open, something new surging through my body. I was at an angered lost for words when I shot up, pushing the punk off me in the process. I wiped my mouth, crimson red blood smearing my skin. I jumped away from him, getting in a position that felt most natural in a defensive situation. I had never been in a fight where it was likely I would lose before. "What the fucking hell!" I spat, "Who do think you even are! Who _hits a girl_?"

He chuckled, "Me, obviously."

He launched again shortly after, in an animalistic way, not allowing any break or timing for me to hit. His fists shot out like bullets from a machine gun—fast and merciless, and I was stuck doing nothing but blocking what I could, taking the dull throb of aftershock against my bones. Repeatedly and for what seemed like hours, I went through this process, blocking seven and only getting a measly tap in, and I could feel myself bruising each time. Zaku paused, momentarily, seeing that that tactic wasn't working, and he threw his arm back, giving me but a second to react.

My eyes widened large and I jumped away, only to stumble quickly after onto the ground. "Shit," I cursed, not having noticed a dent in the hill. My ankle throbbed continuously, and I reached out for it, hissing. I saw then that my shoes were ruined, and about to swear again, I opened my mouth, but this time a shocked gasp escaped my lips; a heavy weight landed on top of me, straddling at my waist.

My vision went red as panic ran through my veins, gray hands grabbing at my jacket zipper, yanking and pulling at anything that could be ripped away.

I froze. The whole world around me froze. Stories on the news about molestations and rapes played through my mind, those pretty women who were the newscasters sending apathy and sometimes even sympathy to the mothers of the children. All the teens and the kids and the sick, sick, men who would do this to the females played over in my vision, growing clearer at each swipe Zaku took. I was going to be on the TV next, headline: Konoha South Student Haruno Sakura Raped on School-grounds. I would be in the newspaper and on Yahoo News! and on Google and Facebook as a page that the hundreds of girls who attended South would like because it could've happened to them just as easily if it happened to me, that ugly punk smoker. My parents would get flowers by the hour sent to their house for me; cards explaining how sorry they were for them, how much they hoped I would get better, and soon. As cold hands fiddled with the button of my jeans, I jolt to life and begin screaming as loud as I can manage. I was jerking and shaking away from Zaku.

"Stop!" I shrieked, hot tears running down my face. "Stop, stop, stop, stop!"

A sharp thwack hit my head, and momentarily my vision blurred, but I didn't know if it was from my tears or the excruciating pain pinning my head. "Help," I continued to cry, and I freed my hands from the one huge, dry palm of Zaku's. I wasted no time thumping him on his chest, trying to hit him where it really hurt. I was kicking my legs in a fury, and I could tell he was starting to get upset. He released the most demonic sounding grumble I've heard in my life, and as his fist swung one more, slow-motioned time, my life played before my eyes.

This wasn't always my life, I chose it, I chose it and I made the wrong decision, and now I'm paying for it. One step at a time, one warning piled on top of another and now the totals were too high to be given further lenience. I was going to pay and this was how. My mind's rationalization did nothing to calm my boiling nerves. I didn't _want _this to happen to me, I didn't care if it was supposed to or if it was payback from karma; I didn't want it and it wasn't going to happen. The way I was going to stop this from happening to me remained unknown, and I wriggled beneath Zaku's weight, narrowly dodging his anchoring fist. The only thing I knew was that something—anything—needed to happen, and soon.

My muscles began to sore, becoming sluggish from onslaught, and I was begging, pleading and whimpering my cries. I was tired, adrenaline having run its course for far longer than it should have, it seemed. My eyes were growing more and more dark, even the sky, the perfect autumn afternoon blue, was fading away in my vision. My fingers and toes were going numb, cold. Then, I screamed, one final long desperate wail, and just as my hope seemed to fade, my shirt hiked higher up my torso, and hands explored my body, three crunches of the freshly cut grass reached my ears.

* * *

Okay so if I was dead Heaven is all that it's worked up to be, really. All it is is a big black expanse with absolutely nothing. I was floating in this orb of nothingness with, rightly, nothing to do. Nothing was interesting, nothing was cool, nothing was fun, nothing was awesome, and nothing was freaking nothing. I felt like Squidward in that episode of SpongeBob, when he was sent to Nowhere, you know, except I was in the anti because it was black and not white.

Maybe I was in anti-Heaven, then. The thought seemed ridiculous, since Hell is red, and fiery, and if this were Hell, there would be a little demon with a pitchfork running around and stabbing people.

I sighed, lying down on nothing. I should've brought my book, since this is so inevitably boring. My mind quarried this fact. Of course being in a black expanse would be boring after being sexually assaulted/almost raped. Anything and everything is boring after that. Right? It would make sense if that were so, seeing as I've never had such a rush in my life before, such a need of self-preservation and protection before. I'd never cried so feverishly. I've never begged for help, or simply my mother before.

Rubbing my eyes, I yawned, already tired of this place; I wanted freaking out. I stood up and dusted my pants, feeling very stupid afterward because it wasn't as if nothing could create dust or lint. My feet and intuition lead me into a direction that seemed like it had some depth, and, putting right in front of left, on foot ahead of the other, I walked forward, or maybe it was backwards, perhaps it was left, and it could've possibly been right.

I didn't quite give a fuck, to be honest, though. I just wanted some damn food.

* * *

Water was the first thing a registered. Next, I registered that it was being doused on me. Then, I registered that the water was cold as hell.

I shot up, ramrod straight, eyes surging open. "What the F are you doing?" I yelled at a colorful blob, eyes still blurry, unable to tell what was what really. I knew that all the green was grass and the green with these brown stubby things underneath it were trees, and when the blob closest to me splashed me with more water, I knew it was a person, and a deaf one at that.

Snatching what I assumed to be the water bottle from them, I growled. "Stop it! I think it was obvious I was awake like thirty minutes ago! Gosh…"

My eyes revealed to me my sister, standing there trying to look as if she were not avidly concerned to me a few seconds ago, crossing her arms across her chest and tapping her monstrous foot on the ground. Momoko was wearing her slut regulation skirt and a decently nice maroon sweater that matched said skirt. I suppose she's toning it down, now, showing less skin and all. I wobbly got to my feet, grabbing my head naturally. Before I could stumble back downward, Momoko grasped my arms, steadying me.

"Are you alright? What happened anyway? I've been texting you like crazy."

Just then, I realized the absence of my cell phone, an empty void in my back pocket. Looking around I saw pieces of broken plastic that resembled the cover of my baby, and even farther away, I saw the keyboard half, lying in broken shambles. My heart pinched at this discovery; however, I just faced my sister and shrugged, trying to avoid the topic as much as possible. I walked passed her, purposely ignoring her confused stare.

She quickly met up with me, heeled shoes clicking on the sidewalk after she skidded down the hill. Tapping my shoulder, Momoko pestered. "Omigod, Sakura, tell me what's wrong! You're scaring me, honestly."

My heart swelled with pity for the unknowing my sister was currently shouldering. I wanted nothing more than to tell her, but then, thinking upon it, why would I put that on her conscious? Why would I ruin her day farther, why do that when I've already ripped her away from her studies of popularity and North-ness? My heart pounded in preparation of my next lie, and I scratched my face, unintentionally scraping away some newly wet mud. I sighed, "I've just had a long day and wanted to get out, I didn't notice a bump in the hill, and I fell. Repeatedly."

Momoko continued staring, analyzing my condition. "But you're all bruised up, Sakura…"

"Repeatedly," I insisted. "Repeatedly, I fell."

Eventually she nodded slowly, and at the same speed, my anxiety of being caught dissipated. She turned on her heel and led me in the direction of the car, which was in the same position of the limo from however minutes ago. I vaguely wondered where it went and whom it was for, but by that time, Momoko had opened her Barbie car door and gently pushed me in. I sneered at her and sat reluctantly. As long as I pretended things were normally, I quarried, maybe they'll get normal. Who knows? Maybe I might even fool myself into believing the false reality.

* * *

Misconceptions are made daily, I've noticed. Like, for example, I was at the grocery store the other day shopping for the mom because she wanted to make some special tofu that was even more disgusting, and I saw this oddly shaped woman. She looked like a balloon in the front, so when I went by her to get three tomatoes. I smiled and she looked me over, apparently trying to decide if she wanted to associate herself with those dang teenage kids. Eventually she nodded back, and went back to picking through the tomatoes. Having got my three, I turned to leave, but the woman's shape just really sparked my curiosity. Before she got too far away, I tapped her shoulder and asked, "When are you due?"

She got me kicked out of freaking Super Target because she was throwing such a ruckus that the manager came over, replied to some colorful language with some shit about calming down, and, eventually, he found that the best solution was to have me shoved out the front doors, leaving me tomato-less.

Well, anyway, the point of that was to show that misconceptions on people are made every single day, in everyday places. It was my random thought to distract me, and, well, it was doing a good job seeing as I was completely distracted now in this mall.

After convincing my conniving sister that I was completely okay and that she had no reason to be a creeper, diving into my life as if she was Mom, she drove us to Maple Leaf. She dipped off to A+F (she probably thought I didn't know that I knew that was Abercrombie and Fitch, so I was glad to say "Okay, have fun adding what grades you have and what grades you want!") while I visited the directory.

Alone, I noted that my mind wondered a lot more, and, unfortunately, this afternoon's events played on repeat. I was on my feet, jittery almost, paranoid about everyone who would glance at me for more than a second, even though they had reason to. I was bruised up, probably dirty, possibly bloodied, my jacket zipper was broken off, and my pant's button was nowhere to be found. I screamed hobo. To fix this, I made a point to think of other things, things not involving Zak and the Crew, and it was (un)surprisingly difficult. They were (are? idk) my life, day in and day out, during school, after school. I was, in a way, without purpose now. I felt awkward and thrown out, abused like the toy a kid only has because they like to destroy it.

Soon enough I approached the glowing Directory, and the bright neon lights almost had success in temporarily blinding me. Nevertheless I found the 'P's and traced down to _Plush_, finding that I could find it on either the first or second floor. Oh. How amazing; there are too floors of estrogen loving. I backed up slightly, memorized the map, and turned, almost bumping into a tall blonde guy with a serious case of raccoon style eyeliner.

"I'm sorry," I blurted after realizing that he had spilled his hotdog and fries onto the ground shortly after I rammed into him. "I would pay you back if I had money but someone stole my wallet right before they almost raped me," after realizing what I just revealed I grinned, trying to play it off as a joke. Inside, my conscious was slapping its forehead, feeling sorry for my stupidity.

The blonde laughed awkwardly, sipping his soda from the straw and releasing a 'Ha-ha, good joke, not really' sigh. "That'll be okay. It was only a few bucks and would've cost my digestive system more," he flashed a smile. "What were you looking for, un? I work here; I like to think I know my way around."

So I told him I was going to Plush and he was all Oh and I was all Yeah and was like I wouldn't have expected that and I asked Why so he just shrugged, and I also got out of him that he was named Deidara and that he was studying at the community college in art for the moment until he managed enough money for an apartment in Suna. After that point, he would move there and major in art at the town's Art Institute, which has great reviews, un. He was a sculptor, or at least studying to become one. He worked at Plush because one of his friend's friends co-owned it with their brother/family/clan—to which I was like WTF? o.O—and he needed the money and he had figured, "Hey why not, they got chicks and I got a dick, un."

I laughed airily, feeling more self-conscious than I thought I ever would while talking to an art major hopeful. "Interesting logic, Deidara-san…," I murmured.

He downed the rest of his drink and crushed it with his palm, monstrous biceps waving to me all sexy like, then threw it into the nearest garbage can, laughing lightly at my comment. A silence filled the air as we continued to walk, and he informed, "We're almost there."

"Amazing," I said.

Deidara then decided to take the plunge and ask the question I knew he had been begging to ask during our whole mini-conversation. "How'd you get so banged up?"

I ignored his super lame innuendo-ish lingo and shrugged, putting my hands into my pocket. "I tripped down the stairs at my friend's mansion then her Yorkie attacked me."

The blonde blinked twice, ceasing his movement all together. I was dying to laugh at his surprised expression, but, in order to keep the lie true, I left my face straight. Seconds later, he thawed and clapped his tanned hands together, grinning. "You'll fit in fine," he said.

I thought it was interesting when he thought I didn't hear him whisper, "If Itachi let's your crazy ass in, Pinky."

My laughter could no longer hold myself. Ain't he going to be surprised when I do get hired, since now he just gave me a second reason to want to be with Plush. The first, well, duh, the shoes. Now, the second, I was going to be the crazy ass that made Plush something amazing. Write it, record it, believe it.

* * *

**A/N: **This is _way_ longer than last chapter, so I hope I made up for the last. Ryan-nee is really mad at me for having that happen to Sakura. I'm kind of glad I did it, though, even if it was…risky. : )

_**Thanks for Reviewing…tfmu, VermilionTampon, 2AsiAn4y00h**_

~Lillypop414

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